


who is in control

by plinys



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: M/M, Stockholm Syndrome, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-05 00:02:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5353277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Stockholm syndrome,” he says, “feelings of trust or affection felt by a hostage victim toward a captor. That’s all this is.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	who is in control

**Author's Note:**

> for a fic swap with Chris, this was supposed to get more smut-y but I got caught up in plot, so I owe you some hot stuff to make up for this later. Nevertheless I hope you like this a little at least??

He remembered what Jemma told him sometimes. That the only reason she was able to survive the planet, the only reason she didn’t completely lose her mind, was that she had company. He wonders if she would have felt the same way were she in his shoes. Stuck on the alien planet, not with a relatively attractive astronaut, not even being hunted by some strange inhuman monster, but stuck here with-

“Don’t touch me.”

“You’re bleeding, let me help.”

The words are said with something almost akin to care, and even though Fitz is certain it’s fake (or that the only reason he’s concerned is that Fitz is their best chance at getting back to earth), that doesn’t stop the small pain in his chest at the sound of them. It almost sounds like the Ward he knew from years ago – back on the bus – the _fake_ Ward.

Then again, that Ward wouldn’t have shot him.

That’s a reality check enough.

And when he glances up, away from the desert rocks of the planet, making sure to avoid the sight of his injury, to meet Ward’s eyes it’s with a glare he’s been practicing in the mirror ever since he woke up from that coma.

“Piss off.”

\---

Ward predictably doesn’t leave him alone, but he does at least toss Fitz the bandages from the medkit so he can put himself together without help. Fitz isn’t entirely sure if the tossed up feeling in his stomach is his disgust at being stuck here with Ward, or the squeamishness that he never managed to grow out of.

Throwing up doesn’t make him feel better.

In fact, it makes him feel worse.

His throat burns and there’s not enough supplies to go around – they hadn’t planned to be here beyond the twelve hours – certainly hadn’t planned to be left behind. Even if they had, Fitz would never had been part of the calculations. When it came down to Hydra’s plans he was expendable, a tool that had served up its uses and was now trapped here.

Rationally he should have seen this coming.

It didn’t explain why Ward had stayed. Why he had hesitated too long after taking the shot, after following the orders that had been given to him.

He wants to ask why – wants to beg for an explanation that makes some sort of sense – but at the same time he’s not sure he wants the answer.

Thankfully he’s spared from having to put a voice to the questions in the back of his head, by Ward’s voice, “The scanners picked up on something looks like it might be shelter.”

Probably where Jemma stayed when she was trapped here.

“What makes you think – would I want to go with you?”

He hates the way his words fail, months of therapy turning into nothing, at the mere presence of the other man. Shorter answers were easier, and he quickly made a mental note to stick to those from now on.

There’s a look on Ward’s face that for a second seems almost like pity, before he pulls out his gun. “Because you have no choice?”

Maybe getting shot again wouldn’t be so bad. It wasn’t like they had a chance of ever making it back and surely death would be better than being stuck here with Ward, always waiting for the final shot to come.

Which is why he runs.

\---

He doesn’t get shot a second time.

It feels almost disappointing.

“I’m not a – a fucking dog – you can’t bloody – just manhandle me.”

“It appears that in fact, I can.”

\---

The _rooms_ if one could really call them that are small – filled without dated supplies and one rickety bed. The air smells stale, almost suffocating, though that might have to do more with atmospheric conditions.

Not the place he wants to be trapped in for the foreseeable future.

Not that he has a choice.

“Stay here,” Ward says. Leaving no room for argument. “You saw what happened last time you ran, it’s pointless to keep trying.”

“Fuck you.”

Ward has the audacity to laugh at that. A deep laugh, one he remembers. Not the sort of maniacal evil villain chuckle that Fitz had been expecting. To be honest, he was a little let down.

“Don’t worry, there’ll be time for that later.”

“I’d rather die,” Fitz says. The words feeling more like truth than he wants to admit.

The words have their effect, because Ward’s face darkens. “Not on my watch you’re not.”

He means to ask ‘ _why do you care_ ’ but Ward is gone searching off through the rest of the rooms, before he can get the words to come out right. So there’s no answer to his query.

\---

Fitz loses track of the days too quickly, with no sun and Ward guarding his time piece, there’s no way of knowing exactly how much time has passed. Too much time staring at stone walls and computer equipment too old for even Fitz to bring to life once more.

It feels like an eternity.

That’s what he blames it on, the realization that he’s likely to be stuck here forever, with no hope of escape and no way to end his suffering. There’s no other explanation why for the first time since they’ve got to the planet, he starts the conversation.

“What happens if I can’t – can’t fix this?”

He briefly wonders if Ward had even considered that, judging by the way his eyebrows knit together ever so slightly, calculating every move and statement, Fitz highly doubt it.

“You’ll figure it out.”

“But what if-“

“You’ll figure it out,” this time the words are said with a finality that ends the conversation.

It’ll be ten minutes, before Ward speaks up again. Sitting down on the ground beside Fitz, looking just a little bit lost, and a little bit like somebody Fitz used to know.

“What can I do to help?”

“You can hold this – it’s hard to – squeeze the – my hands,” he looks pointedly at them. At the shaking that he cannot stop sometimes, not without the medicine he keeps back on the SHIELD base. “Getting shot didn’t help.”

Ward almost sounds sincere when he says, “Sorry.”

 _Almost_.

\---

“I can’t – a bloody can’t make – miracles don’t –“ He’s not sure what he’s trying to say, but it doesn’t matter. Because Ward’s rushing him, as if creating a portal to a planet with no means to receive them (probably with no want to receive them) was simply an easy task.

So maybe he started a small electrical fire.

It was not like Fitz did it on purpose.

“You’re deliberately sabotaging the equipment,” Ward accuses, “You want to stay here.”

“Why in the – why would I want that? I hate it – here and you – I hate you. I want to go home and I hate you.”

The words don’t come out with the same amount of fury that he had intended them too. Which is why he tries to push Ward away from him. His arms coming up against the other man’s chest, trying to force him away. It’s a fruitless attempt, one that Ward doesn’t even dignify reacting to.

Instead he just smirks that infuriating smirk. The one that was probably patented by _Hydra_ , before insisting, “You don’t hate me.”

Before Fitz can manage to properly form his indignant response, Ward is move closer towards him, backing Fitz up into one of the stone walls. Jostling his arm that’s still sore from where Ward shot him.

He gasps out from the pain. Though Ward must interpret the gasp as something else, because a second later, there’s lips on his own. Rough and painful, pushing him further into the wall, while hands tighten against his waist. Trapping him, unable to fight back.

However, escaping is the last thought in his mind.

Fitz doesn’t even realize he’s kissing back at first, but when he does, he shoves at Ward again. This time managing to somehow catch the other man off guard enough to stumble back.

“I hate you,” Fitz says, again.

The words don’t even sound like hate anymore.

\---

It goes downhill from there. Rapidly.

He tells himself every time immediately after that he doesn’t want this, that this is a mistake, that it’s just because Ward is _there_ , but if that was true then why did he crave it so much.

“Stockholm syndrome,” he says to himself, one day when Ward is out scouting the planet again. The definition coming easily to mind, “feelings of trust or affection felt by a hostage victim toward a captor. That’s all this is.”

But that doesn’t explain the rush he feels, the way his stomach turns, not in disgust at the sight of Ward, but something else, something desperate and almost like want.

 _Almost_ being the operative word.

\---

He says, “I hate you,” still even now.

As Ward, presses him down onto the rickety mattress. The remains of the suit he had been wearing on his way through the portal ages ago, falling to the ground as eager hands reach for a piece of him that they can hold onto.

Eager hands that Fitz cannot help himself but lean up into.

He wants this. A sick part of him wants this.

So bad that it hurts.

Which is why he pulls Ward towards him, kisses him like his life depends on it, because if Fitz thinks about this too hard. If he thinks about whose hand it is tightening around his cock, bringing him over the edge, that he’ll lose all his nerve.

He pulls back just far enough to say, “Fuck me.”

A command that has Ward groaning again, before moving to comply. To give him everything that he wants, everything that he’s asked for time and time again. Enough time that he’s lost count, or simply stopped trying to keep track.

He’s not sure anymore, not sure about a lot of things.

Sometimes when he says _I hate you_ , it almost feels like _I love you._ That scares him more than anything else on this planet ever has.


End file.
